Infected

An enemy bomb explodes in America, starting a disease. The soon-to-be pandemic spreads quickly and unstoppably. Although it only affected the few unfortunate people that just happened to be near the explosion, it gets transferred through bites. There's no cure. The effects of the sickness are atrocious. It's deadly, and once you catch it, there's no getting rid of it. Victims of the disease die, resurrect, and feast upon living human flesh. These creatures are otherwise known as... zombies. What happens when 14-year-old Aleena Johnson must go against all that's right to survive and protect all that she cares for?

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4. Chapter 4

 

The next few days rolled along. Days passed. My father made us barricade the windows and doors with whatever we could find. After mom died, we put her remains in a garbage bag and then another and then a large plastic container usually used for storing clothes under a bed or something normal like that. 

Then, before they were barricaded, we opened the back door and slid the container outside. We would’ve gave her a proper burial, had the circumstances not have ruined that. 

You could tell that dad missed her. Just by the look in his eye. The way he acted. But of course, who wouldn’t be sad if their wife or husband died? And don’t get me wrong, I totally miss her. But I feel that in this situation I’m obligated to take up the authority and to protect everyone in this household. Before all of this started, horror movies were my favorite things to watch. So yes, I would say my knowledge on zombies is large to some extent... 

And Tony... Gosh he is really freaked. He just doesn’t understand what’s going on. I mean, from his point of view, his mom just went from happy and loving and existent one day, to gone the next. Overnight, even. I mean, just about anyone would be upset if that happened. 

 

By the time Day 4 rolled around, (I’m keeping track of days since mom’s died, so day four is approximately four days after mother died) after boarding up and barricading and packing, you could really tell that dad was losing it. Like it was highly noticeable... I’m not sure what I should do. 

In the evening of Day 4, I decided I should at least try to talk to dad. I walked into his room, where he’d been just sitting there and staring blankly at the wall ever since... you know. He only occasionally gets up. 

“Hey dad, I just wanted to say... You really gotta get it together. You’ve got two other people to take care of. I can take care of myself for the most part, but you’ve got Tony! Think about him, and not just yourself. I mean, I know we’re all sad because we miss mom, but get it together. This is all just a big game. Zombies, death, and all... So we have to win. You have to get your head in the game!”

Dad said nothing. But behind that blank expression, I knew he was thinking about what I’d said. Somewhere, deep down in there, I know he’s the same old guy I knew as my father.

 

Day 5, nothing’s changed. Same old, same old. I think its about time dad participated in the well being of the family. I walked back to his bedroom. I just stood there and studied him. How he wore his leathery boots over his pants. How his hair was all smoothed over, with assistance from a comb and some hair gel, from when he’d used it several days ago, but he has done nothing to mess it up since then.

Okay, here goes nothing.

 

“Dad! Get up! We need you!”. I was yelling. “Come on, dad! Where the good old daddy that I have loved since forever?!” 

Just then, dad moved in a fierce, almost robotic, jerk. He (or his body, as his mind is most likely not in use, from my point of view) proceeded to rise, turn and walk straight past me and to the garage door, the only door not barricaded because there are technically two doors, garage and the regular, that guard it. He stepped through the door once it was unlocked and slammed it shut. I could hear him opening large, electric garage door. 

 

 

We never saw him again.

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